Platinum, Silver and Gold
by FreyjaBee
Summary: There are only a few things I know about Mirajane: she is a girl of platinum, silver and gold, and no mountain made of money will buy her a soul. (One-shot) Rated M for adult themes, sex and the like.
_Fairy Tail belongs to Hiro Mashima._

Rated M for sex and mature themes.

 _ **Platinum, Silver and Gold**_

* * *

There are only a few things I know about Mirajane: she is a girl of platinum, silver and gold. She likes black diamonds in the sun, or so I am told, and no mountain made of money will buy her a soul.

She leads me into a nondescript motel room. The only thing particularly fascinating about it is that it's so particularly un-fascinating. The bed sheets are copper and yellow. Copper background. Yellow flowers. It's ugly as sin and smells stale, like maybe they haven't been washed in a long ass time. I'm grossed out, but try not to pay too much attention to it. With Mira standing in front of me, it's easy to push things like that to the wayside.

Her hair is platinum. Her rings are silver. And her dress is gold. With blue eyes she sees through me.

"I thought maybe you found another girl," she tells me.

I shake my head. "Been busy."

She smirks. "Cop work, right?"

I shift, all too aware of my bulletproof vest. It's heavy. I leave it on because I know she likes to take it off. The gun, too. In a world where she's been helpless, I know something as simple as that makes her feel empowered. I've entertained the idea of buying her one of her own. When I told her as much, she shrugged me off. Hookers don't get too far carrying around pieces. Scares clients.

"You know, Laxus, for a man of the law, when you consort with me you break it an awful lot." She approaches, high heels sinking into the stained motel floor. It's an act, one we've played before. "Maybe one day you'll arrest me for real."

She reaches for my vest and I snag her wrist, only half playing, and pull the handcuffs from my belt. "You never tell me no. A guy might think you want to be arrested, Mira." On one wrist I snap the cuffs together. The metal clicks loudly, snugging on.

Instead of looking scared, her smile turns real. "You pay well, so it's a risk I'm willing to take."

She's right. Too well. Well enough that she doesn't have to fuck other men. Who knows if she still does? I haven't worked up the guts to ask, and she hasn't offered to tell. I try to grab her other wrist but she pulls away from me.

"Not yet." The handcuffs jangle loudly, the chain laughing against the zipper at the front of her low-cut dress. Her wardrobe is purposeful. She knows I like her in gold.

Slowly, so slowly, she tugs the zipper down, lower and lower so her breasts swell out of the too-little fabric. She's wearing a bra today. Sort of. When you're a hooker, I guess all of your undergarments are lingerie. It's black lace underneath her clothes. Always black lace. Again, probably because she knows I like the way it looks against her skin.

The zipper is down to her naval now. On her stomach is a dark tattoo, something swirling and coiling. It's fake, I can tell because it wasn't there the last time we were together and the edges are faded. I like it anyway.

Wriggling her hips, she works the dress down, down, down, until it's a golden puddle on the floor, then she steps out of it and towards me. Anticipatorily, I touch her sides. Her skin is smooth and clear. She responds to me like I imagine her not responding to anyone else, a gentle coo on her lips. Just hearing that sound, I know this is a girl that I love, if only she'd let me.

I find her lips and kiss her. It's the first time. Even though I've been paying for her for months, she's never before let me get this close. I take what I can get, hungry for it. She tastes like wine. She tastes like lip plumper. She tastes like everything I've stayed up all night thinking about.

I'm greedy and try to go too fast. Using both hands, she pushes me back, the smile fading from her mouth. She looks scared and eager and I know that this time is somehow different. With shaking fingers she undoes her bra, then slips her thong from her hips. She looks the same as ever. Perfect in my eyes, though I'm sure some asshole somewhere looking for a split lip could find _something_ wrong with her. It's a good thing he's not here.

Naked now, she steps close to me and starts tugging at the heavy Velcro that holds my vest in place. I watch her through my lashes. There is a look of concentration on her pretty face, one that only eases when the Velcro finally comes apart at my ribs and she can slide the vest over my shoulders. I help her lift it over my head, then she takes it from me. She doesn't grunt under the weight, but she does drop it unceremoniously to the floor. Next, she goes for my gun. It's always in that order: vest then gun. Then everything else. It's a ritual I don't understand, but I let her have it; it makes her happy.

Unlike other days, today when she pulls out my sidearm, she hesitates with it, turning the metal over and over in her nimble fingers. "When you have to use this, do you ever get scared?"

My first reaction is to say something glib, some blusterous bullshit statement. A look in her eye tells me that it isn't time for jokes. "Yeah. Sometimes."

"What do you think about when that happens? What's important to you, Laxus? Do you have anyone in your life?"

I wonder how pathetic it'll sound if I tell her that it's her. Pretty lame, right? So I tell her something else, something she might want to hear. "I have a Shepard named Molly that takes up too much of my bed."

She actually laughs. "I have a hound named Fluffy."

"Hounds aren't fluffy," I tell her.

"I didn't name her."

"Someone important did, then." Had to be, to keep that damn name. This is the real Mirajane. What she's showing me is just barely a glimpse, but I'm like a starving man. Any piece of her she throws my way, I snatch up and collect. One day I'm going to have a complete puzzle.

She drops the gun to the ground on top of the vest and doesn't reply, businesslike once more. She doesn't like to talk about herself. I get it, I guess. I _am_ a cop, after all, and she _is_ a hooker, trying not to get too attached.

What fucking failures we are.

She composes herself and starts touching me once more, tugging at my dark blue shirt, her movements fast and sure now. She never breaks any of the buttons, but she comes close. I never tell her to slow. When she gets to my pants, our too-intense moment is forgotten. There is a purr on her lips. When we first started doing this, it was fake. Not that I could tell at the time, I was too fucking drunk and too fucking horny to care. Now we're both sober and both too genuine for our own good.

She frees me and I catch her wrists.

There are rules and ways we do this.

Mira looks into my eyes and I almost let her go. Then she licks her lips and nods, putting her wrists together for me. Moving with more surety than I thought I could, I clinch the other handcuff closed. She's trapped now. Again, I don't understand this game of tug of war she likes to play, but I'm always willing to entertain her. For a cost.

Bending, I take advantage of her immobility and steal another kiss. It's something I could so easily get addicted to.

Her sigh tells me she likes it, and her restrained hands pressing against my bare chest tells me she wants it. Her skin is cooler than mine. It's both shocking and nice when she reaches down and grabs me. I kiss her deeper, guiltily enjoying the way her breaths come in short puffs, the way the handcuffs tinker. I know it seems like I have control, but in reality, Mirajane is the one with all the power. I don't wonder if she knows. She sees through me.

The game isn't fun for her if I get too compliant, so when she breaks the kiss and tries to sink to her knees to take me into her mouth, I yank on her elbow and put on the hardest face I can muster.

"Oh!" She legitimately looks startled.

I almost feel bad. "Get on the bed."

She grins toothily and the guilt goes up in smoke. I get harder watching her sway to the bed. All of her curves grab the light, her hair gleams, her rings flash right along with the cuffs.

First she lifts one knee, then the other, perching on the very edge of the mattress, knowing what I want before I do. The bed squeals under her weight, the springs tired. She looks over her shoulder, her eyes flashing when she catches sight of my expression. I wonder what it must look like right now. Ravenous? Savage?

She bends and stretches out, her body moving as lithely as a cats. I take the invitation for what it is and go to her. When I touch her between her legs she quivers, and when I kiss the skin on her back she bucks and sobs. Only when she's a trembling, panting mess do I allow her to turn over. When she's so excited, sliding into her is easy. Each time we do this, it feels better. She doesn't grab me with her cuffed hands, though I can tell she wants to. I grab her instead to make the connection she's afraid of.

We know each other too well.

Her hair is silver ropes, sliding through my fingers.

On mine, her mouth is warmer than a summer's day. I love this girl. And I don't even know her real name.

When she orgasms, she tips her head back and catches her bottom lip between her teeth. She's too loud. Just the way I like, screaming my name, begging for me.

Yes. We know each other too well. I come just after.

For too long we pant and sweat, our hearts racing in tune with each other. Looking down into her red-stained cheeks and closed, pale eyelids, I tell her something stupid.

"Quit."

Mira opens her eyes and looks at me. I expect her to ask, ' _What?'_ but she knows exactly what I mean. "I can't."

"I'll take care of you." For this girl, I'd do anything.

She touches my face, hands still cuffed, and kisses me like I've never been kissed before. "I know you would, if I let you."

Her answer is obvious. It's a fucked up world, and what do we get? Sex, sometimes love and guns. "Light a cigarette."

* * *

 **A/N:** It's been a long time since I've written a first person POV. Like… a _long ass time._

I know it's not everyone's cuppa, so thanks for reading :)

I don't even _know_ what that was. Like, why I wrote it? Dunno. Dunno. Dunno.

Anywho. I need to give some credit where credit is due. I doubt you will read this, Wordslinger, though it was your short, 'Control' that actually inspired this. I can't exactly connect the dots, but just know that in some roundabout way… this atrocity is your fault :D

-others, seriously, Wordslinger's 'Control' is fucking fantastic. It's way better than this. Go check it out. I cannot say that enough. _Go check it out_. And leave a review for (him, her? Dunno) telling them to write _exactly like that. Again and again._ Because I'm still thinking about it, and it was only like, 500 words.

 _ANYWAY!_

Check out my Facebook page, Kaitlin Corvus. Link is in my FanFic profile. My book is coming out May 28th and it's available for pre-order _right now_.

Erm… no pressure. Just a Facebook like would be the coolest thing you could do.

Au revoir!


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